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COBMGifr DEJTOSm 



WILD EARTH 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



PADRAIC COLUM 

Author of "Three Plays," "My Irish Year" 
"The King of Ireland't Son" 



liH 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1916 






Copyright, 1916, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
Published October, 1916 




NOV 16 1916 



THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAV, N. J. 



'CI,A445652 



This volume takes its name from a collection of poems 
of peasant life published by Maunsel & Co., Dublin, 1909. 
While some of those poems are included in the present 
volume, poems of a different character have been added 
and the series of peasant poems has been made more 
complete. 

Thanks are returned to the editors of The Nation 
(London), The British Review, Poetry (Chicago), 
McCliire's Magazine, for permission to republish certain 
poems included in this volume. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Plougher 3 

A Drover S 

The Furrow and the Hearth f 

What the Shuiler Said as She Lay by the Fire in 

THE Farmer's House lo 

A Connachtman 12 

An Old Woman of the Roads 14 

A Rann of Exile 16 

A Rann of Wandering 17 

The Beggar's Child 18 

The Ballad of Downal Baun 19 

She Moved Through the Fair 26 

Across the Door 27 

A Cradle Song 28 

No Child 29 

Interior 30 

Three Spinning Songs: 

The Lannan Shee 31 

An Island Spinning Song 33 

Carricknabauna 34 

Stories 35 

The Terrible Robber Men 37 

An Drinaun Donn 38 

PoLONius and the Ballad Singers: 

Cruckaunfinn 40 

The Hawk-questing Maid 41 

The Baltimore Exile 42 

V 



vi Contents 

The Sea Bird to the Wave 44 

The Wayfarer: 

The Trees 45 

Christ the Comrade 45 

The Captive Archer 46 

Triumphators 46 

Garadh 47 

"I Shall Not Die for Thee" 48 

Old Men Complaining 50 

Girls Spinning 53 

Dermott Donn MacMorna 58 

A Poor Scholar of the Forties 59 

A Ballad Maker 61 

An Idyll 63 

Arab Songs: 

Umimah 65 

The Gadfly 66 

The Parrot and the Falcon 67 

River Mates 69 

For Morfydd 70 



WILD EARTH 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE PLOUGHER 

Sunset and silence ! A man : around him earth savage, 

earth broken; 
Beside him two horses — a plough! 

Earth savage, earth broken, the brutes, the dawn man 

there in the sunset, 
And the Plough that is twin to the Sword, that is founder 

of cities ! 



" Brute-tamer, plough-maker, earth-breaker ! Can'st hear? 

There are ages between us. 
'' Is it praying you are as you stand there alone in the 

sunset ? 

" Surely our sky-bom gods can be naught to you, earth 

child and earth master? 
" Surely your thoughts are of Pan, or of Wotan, or 

Dana? 

" Yet, why give thought to the gods ? Has Pan led your 

brutes where they stumble? 
" Has Dana numbed pain of the child-bed, or Wotan 

put hands to your plough? 
3 



4 Wild Earth 

" What matter your foolish reply ! O, man, standing 

lone and bowed earthward, 
" Your task is a day near its close. Give thanks to the 

night-giving God." 



Slowly the darkness falls, the broken lands blend with 

the savage; 
The brute-tamer stands by the brutes, a head's breadth 

only above them. 

A head's breadth? Ay, but therein is hell's depth, and 

the height up to heaven, 
And the thrones of the gods and their halls, their chariots, 

purples, and splendors. 



A DROVER 

To Meath of the pastures. 
From wet hills by the sea, 
Through Leitrim and Longford, 
Go my cattle and me. 

I hear in the darkness 
Their slipping and breathing — 
I name them the bye-ways 
They're to pass without heeding; 

Then the wet, winding roads, 
Brown bogs with black water; 
And my thoughts on white ships 
And the King o' Spain's daughter. 

O! farmer, strong farmer! 
You can spend at the fair ; 
But your face you must turn 
To your crops and your care. 

And soldiers — red soldiers! 
You've seen many lands ; 
But you walk two by two, 
And by captain's commands. 
5 



mid Earth 

O! the smell of the beasts, 
The wet wind in the morn; 
And the proud and hard earth 
Never broken for corn; 

And the crowds at the fair, 
The herds loosened and blind. 
Loud words and dark faces 
And the wild blood behind. 

(O! strong men, with your best 
I would strive breast to breast, 
I could quiet your herds 
With my words, with my words.) 

I will bring you, my kine, 
Where there's grass to the knee; 
But you'll think of scant croppings 
Harsh with salt of the sea. 



THE FURROW AND THE HEARTH 



Stride the hill, sower, 
Up to the sky-ridge. 
Flinging the seed, 
Scattering, exultant! 
Mouthing great rhythms 
To the long sea beats 
On the wide shore, behind 
The ridge of the hillside. 

Below in the darkness — 
The slumber of mothers — 
The cradles at rest — 
The fire-seed sleeping 
Deep in white ashes ! 

Give to darkness and sleep: 
O sower, O seer! 
Give me to the Earth. 
With the seed I would enter. 
O ! the growth thro' the silence 
From strength to new strength; 
Then the strong bursting forth 
Against primal forces. 
To laugh in the sunshine, 
To gladden the world! 



Wild Earth 

II 

Who will bring the red fire 
Unto a new hearth? 
Who will lay the wide stone 
On the waste of the earth? 

Who is fain to begin 
To build day by day? 
To raise up his house 
Of the moist, yellow clay ? 

There's clay for the making 
Moist in the pit, 
There are horses to trample 
The rushes thro' it. 

Above where the wild duck 
Arise up and fly, 
There one may build 
To the wind and the sky. 

There are boughs in the forest 
To pluck young and green. 
O'er them thatch of the crop 
Shall be heavy and clean. 

I speak unto him 

Who in dead of the night 

Sees the red streaks 

In the ash deep and white. 



The Furrow and the Hearth 

While around him he hears 
Men stir in their rest, 
And stir of the child 
That is close to the breast! 

He shall arise, 
He shall go forth alone. 
Lay stone on the earth 
And bring fire to the stone. 



WHAT THE SHUILER SAID AS SHE LAY BY 
THE FIRE IN THE FARMER'S HOUSE 

I'm glad to lie on a sack of leaves 
By a wasted fire and take my ease. 
For the wind would strip me bare as a tree — 
The wind would blow old age upon me. 
And I'm dazed with the wind, the rain, and the 
cold. 

If I had only the good red gold 
To buy me the comfort of a roof, 
And under the thatch the brown of the smoke ! 

I'd lie up in my painted room 
Until my hired girl would come; 
And when the sun had warmed my walls 
I'd rise up in my silks and shawls. 
And break my fast before the fire. 
And I'd watch them that had to sweat 
And shiver for shelter and what they ate. 
The farmer digging in the fields; 
The beggars going from gate to gate ; 
The horses striving with their loads. 
And all the sights upon the roads. 

I'd live my lone without clan or care, 
And none about me to crave a share. 
The young have mocking, impudent ways, 
And I'd never let them a-nigh my place. 
And a child has often a pitiful face. 

10 



What the Shuiler Said 1 1 

I'd give the rambling fiddler rest, 
And for me he would play his best. 
And he'd have something to tell of me 
From the Moat of Granard dov^n to the sea ! 
And, though I'd keep distant, I'd let in 
Old women who would card and spin 
And clash with me, and I'd hear it said, 

" Mor who used to carry her head 
As if she was a lady bred — 
Has little enough in her house, they say— 
And such-a-one's child I saw on the way 
Scaring crows from a crop, and glad to get, 
In a warmer house, the bit to eat. 
O ! none are safe, and none secure, 
And it's well for some whose bit is sure ! " 

I'd never grudge them the weight of their lands 
If I had only the good red gold 
To huggle between my breast and hands ! 



A CONNACHTMAN 

It's my fear that my wake won't be quiet, 
Nor my wake-house a silent place: 

For who would keep back the hundreds 
Who would touch my breast and my face ? 

For the good men were always my friends. 

From Galway back into Clare. 
In strength, in sport, and in spending, 

I was foremost at the fair. 

In music, in song, and in friendship, 
In contests by night and by day, 

By all who knew it was given to me 
That I bore the branch away. 

Now let Manus Joyce, my friend 

(If he be at all in the place). 
Make smooth the boards of the coffin 

They will put above my face. 

The old men will have their stories 

Of all the deeds in my days, 
And the young men will stand by the coffin 

And be sure and clear in my praise. 

12 



A Connachtman 13 

But the girls will stay near the door, 
And they'll have but little to say : 

They'll bend their heads, the young girls, 
And for a while they will pray. 

And, going home in the dawning, 

They'll be quiet with the boys : 
The girls will walk together, 

And seldom they'll lift the voice. 

And then, between daybreak and dark, 

And between the hill and the sea. 
Three Women, come down from the Mountain, 

Will raise the Keen over me. 

But 'tis my grief that I will not hear 
When the cuckoo cries in Glenart, 

That the wind that lifts when the sails are loosed 
Will never lift my heart. 



AN OLD WOMAN OF THE ROADS 

O, TO have a little house! 
To own the hearth and stool and all ! 
The heaped up sods upon the fire, 
The pile of turf against the wall! 

To have a clock with weights and chains 
And pendulum swinging up and down ! 
A dresser filled with shining delph, 
Speckled and white and blue and brown I 

I could be busy all the day 

Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor. 

And fixing on their shelf again 

My white and blue and speckled store! 

I could be quiet there at night 

Beside the fire and by myself, 

Sure of a bed and loth to leave 

The ticking clock and the shining delph! 

Och ! but Fm weary of mist and dark, 
And roads where there's never a house nor bush, 
And tired I am of bog and road, 
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush ! 
14 



An Old Woman of the Roads 15 

And I am praying to God on high, 
And I am praying Him night and day, 
For a little house — a house of my own — 
Out of the wind's and the rain's way. 



A RANN OF EXILE 

Nor right, nor left, nor any road I see a comrade face, 
Nor word to lift the heart in me I hear in any place; 
They leave me, who pass by me, to my loneliness and care. 
Without a house to draw my step nor a fire that I might 
share ! 

Ocon ! before our people knew the scatt'ring of the dearth, 
Before they saw potatoes rot and melt black in the earth, 
I might have stood in Connacht, on the top of Cruch- 

maelinn, 
And all around me I would see the hundreds of my kin. 



i6 



A RANN OF WANDERING 

On Saint Bride's day, when it comes, I will throw a sail 

on the lake, 
And in Cahir of my kindred on a fine day I'll awake, 
There the hounds will go before us, and make music 

of delight; 
And the fires will be piled up there, and the tables spread 

at night; 

O, my courage will be mounting up until my spirit's so, 
That within a mile of the World's Mouth I will be fain 

to go: 
Sure the scatt'ring of the mist across leaves no half wish 

behind, 
And my heart was always lifted with the lifting of the 

wind. 



17 



THE BEGGAR'S CHILD 

Mavourneen, we'll go far away 

From the net of the crooked town, 

Where they grudge us the light of the day. 

Around my neck you will lay 

Two tight little arms of brown. 

Mavourneen, we'll go far away 
From the net of the crooked town. 

And what will we hear on the way? 
The stir of wings up and down, says she, 
In nests where the little birds stay! 
Mavourneen, we'll go far away 
From the net of the crooked town, 
Where they grudge us the light of the day. 



i8 



THE BALLAD OF DOWNAL BAUN 
(Domhnal Ban) 

The moon-cradle's rocking and rocking, 
Where a cloud and a cloud goes by: 
Silently rocking and rocking. 
The moon-cradle out in the sky. 

The hound's in his loop at the fire, 

The bond-woman spins at the door; 

One rides on a horse through the court-yard: 

The sword-sheath drops on the floor. 



My grandfather, Downal Baun, 
Had the dream that comes three times: 
He dreamt it first when, a serving boy, 
He lay by the nets and the lines, 

In the house of Fargal More, 

And by Fargal's ash-strewn fire. 

When Downal had herded the kine in the waste, 

And had foddered them all in the byre; 

And he dreamt the dream when he lay 
Under sails that were spread to the main; 
When he took his rest amid dusky seas, 
On the deck of a ship of Spain; 
19 



20 Wild Earth 

And the dream came to him beneath 

The roof he had raised in his pride; 

When beside him there lay and dreamt of her kin, 

His strange and far-brought bride. 



II 



He had dreamt three times of the treasure 
That fills a broken tale : 

The hoard of the men who had raised the mounds, 
Who had brewed the Heather Ale; 

And he knew by the thrice-come dream 

He could win the kist by right, 

If he drew it out of the lake by a thread 

Upon Saint Bridghid's Night, 

By a thread that was bound to the yoke of an ox 

That had never a hair of white ! 



Ill 



So Downal, the silent man. 

Went to many a far-off fair, 

And he bought him an ox no man could say 

Was white by a single hair; 

And he came to the edge of the lake 
Where no curlew cried overhead: 
Silent and bare from the shaking reeds 
The lake-waters spread; 



The Ballad of Downal Baun 21 

And he found it afloat on the current, 
The yoke that was hard for the brunt; 
And he took the yoke and he bound it. 
Across the ox its front; 

The yoke had a thread : in the water 

He saw the burthened net: 

By the push of the ox, by the pull of the thread 

Towards the shore the kist was set ! 

Gold cups for Downal Baun, 
Sword-hilts that Kings' hands wore! 
O the thread drew the treasure nearer 
Till the ripples touched the shore! 

Red rings for Downal's bride, 

White silver for her rein ! 

But weight was laid on each mesh of the net, 

And the lake held its own again I 

He said, " I will break their strength, 
Though they put forth all of their might. 
For to me was given the yoke and the dream 
And the ox with no hair of white." 



He whispered, " Labor, O Creature ; " 

The wide-horned head was set; 

The runnels came from eyes, nose and mouth; 

The thick hide was all sweat; 



22 Wild Earth 

'' Forgive me the goad, O Creature ! " 

It hunched from foreleg to flank, 

Heaved; then the yoke on its forehead 

SpHt, and the treasure sank; 

And Downal v^as left with the broken yoke, 

And the silent ox on the bank. 

He turned the ox to the sedges; 
He took it and held the yoke up ; 
Then he flung it far back in the waters 
Of the dark mountain-cup; 

And he shouted, " Doomsters, I know 
Till five score years from this night, 
The treasure is lost, and I trow 
My ox has the hair of white." 

He stood by the ox its front, 

And brute and man were still ; 

And Downal saw lights burn on the lake, 

And fires within the hill. 



IV 

He turned : a horse was beside him ; 
It was white as his ox was black; 
Who rode it was a woman : 
She paced with him down the track; 

And along a road not straitened 
By ridge or tower or wood. 
And past where the Stones of Morna 
Like headless giants stood; 



The Ballad of Downal Baun 23 

And then on the Night of Saint Bridghid 
The prayer of her vigil he said 
When he looked on the white-horsed woman, 
And saw the sign on her head. 



'* The silks that I wear to my elbows. 
The golden clasps at my side, 
The silver upon my girdle — 
I will give them for your bride." 

" Such gear, O Horned Woman, 
Makes due a pledge, I deem." 
*' Nay. I will gift you freely, 
And you shall tell your dream." 

" They say that whoever tells not 
His dream till he hears the birds — 
That man v/ill know the prophecies 
In long-remembered words." 

" Nay. Tell your dream. Then this hazel 
Distaff your wife will gain ; " 
" The thing that comes in silence," he said, 
" In silence must remain." 

" O dream-taught man," said the woman — 
She stood where the willows grew, 
A woman from the country 
Where the cocks never crew! 



24 Wild Earth 

" O dream-taught man/' said the woman — 
She stayed by a running stream — 
" As wise, as wise as the man," she saidr 
" Who never told his dream." 

Then, swift as the flight of the sea-pie, 
White woman, white horse, went away; 
And Downal passed his haggard, 
And faced the spear of the day; 

And brought his ox to the byre. 
And gave it a measure of straw — 
** A white hair you have," said Downal, 
" But my plough you are fit to draw, 

" And for no dream you'll be burthened. 
And for none you will bear the yoke." 
Then he lifted the latch of his house-door, 
And his bride at his coming awoke; 
He drank the milk that she gave him. 
And the bread she had made he broke. 

The ox was his help thereafter 

When he ploughed the upland and lea. 

And the growth on the Ridge of the Black Ox 

Had a place in men's memory. 

And my grandfather, Downal Baun, 
Henceforth grew in gains where he stood — 
Strong salmon of Lough Oughter, 
Gray hawk of the shady wood! 



The Ballad of Downal Baun 25 

The moon-cradle*s rocking and rocking, 
Where a cloud and a cloud goes by: 
Silently rocking and rocking, 
The moon-cradle out in the sky. 

To-morrow we'll gather the rushes. 
And plait them beside our fire. 
And we'll make Saint Bridghid's Crosses, 
To hang in the room and the byre. 



SHE MOVED THROUGH THE FAIR 

My young love said to me, " My brothers won't mind, 
And my parents won't slight you for your lack of kind." 
Then she stepped away from me, and this she did say, 
" It will not be long, love, till our wedding day." 

She stepped away from me and she moved through the 

fair. 
And fondly I watched her go here and go there, 
Then she went her way homeward with one star awake, 
As the swan in the evening moves over the lake. 

The people were saying no two were e'er wed 

But one had a sorrow that never was said. 

And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear. 

And that was the last that I saw of my dear. 

I dreamt it last night that my young love came in, 
So softly she entered, her feet made no din ; 
She came close beside me, and this she did say, 
*' It will not be long, love, till our wedding day." 



26 



ACROSS THE DOOR 

The fiddles were playing and playing, 
The couples were out on the floor ; 

From converse and dancing he drew me, 
And across the door. 

Ah ! strange were the dim, wide meadows, 
And strange was the cloud-strewn sky, 

And strange in the meadows the corncrakes, 
And they making cry! 

The hawthorn bloom was by us. 
Around us the breath of the south. 

White hawthorn, strange in the night-time — 
His kiss on my mouth! 



37 



A CRADLE SONG 

O, MEN from the fields ! 
Come gently within. 
Tread softly, softly, 
O ! men coming in. 

Mavouraeen is going 
From me and from you. 
Where Mary will fold him 
With mantle of blue! 

From reek of the smoke 
And cold of the floor. 
And the peering of things 
Across the half-door. 

O, men from the fields ! 
Soft, softly come thro*. 
Mary puts round him 
Her mantle of blue. 



28 



NO CHILD 

I HEARD in the night the pigeons 
Stirring within their nest: 

The wild pigeon's stir was tender, 
Like a child's hand at the breast. 

I cried, ** O, stir no more ! 

(My breast was touched of tears), 
O pigeons, make no stir — 

A childless woman hears/' 



INTERIOR 

The little moths are creeping 
Across the cottage pane; 
On the floor the chickens gather, 
And they make talk and complain. 

And she sits by the fire 
Who has reared so many men; 
Her voice is low like the chickens' 
With the things she says again. 

" The sons that come back do be restless, 
They search for the thing to say; 
Then they take thought like the swallows, 
And the morrow brings them away. 

" In the old, old days, upon Innish, 
The fields were lucky and bright, 
And if you lay down you'd be covered 
By the grass of one soft night." 

She speaks and the chickens gather, 
And they make talk and complain, 
While the little moths are creeping 
Across the cottage pane. 



30 



THREE SPINNING SONGS 



(A young girl sings:) 
The Lannan Shee 
Watched the young man Brian 
Cross over the stile towards his father's door, 
And she said, " No help, 
For now he'll see 

His byre, his bawn and his threshing floor! 
And oh, the swallows 
Forget all wonders 

When walls with the nests rise up once more." 
My strand is knit. 

*' Out of the dream 
Of me, into 

The round of his labor he will grow; 
To spread his fields 
In the winds of Spring, 
And tramp the heavy glebe and sow ; 
And cut and clamp 
And rear the turf 
Until the season when they mow." 
My wheel runs smooth. 
31 



32 fFild Earth 

"And while he toils 
In field and bog 

He wiU be anxious in his mind — 
About the thatch 
Of barn and rick 
Against the reiving autumn wind, 
And how to make 
His gap and gate 
Secure against the thieving kind." 
My wool is fine. 



*' He has gone back, 
And ril see no more 
Mine image in his deepening eyes; 
Then I'll lean above 
The Well of the Bride, 
And with my beauty peace will rise ! 
O autumn star 
In a hidden lake, 

Fill up my heart and make me wise ! " 
My quick brown wheel! 

"The women bring 

Their pitchers here 

At the time when the stir of the house is o'er; 

They'll see my face 

In the well-water, 

And they'll never lift their vessels more. 

For each will say, 

* How beautiful — 



Three Spinning Songs 33 

iWhy should I labor any more ! 
Indeed I come 
Of a race so fair 

Twere waste to labor any more ! ' " 
My thread is spun. 



II 



(An elder girl sings:) 
One came before her and said beseeching, 
** I have fortune and I have lands, 
And if you will share in the goods of my house- 
hold 
All my treasure 's at your commands." 

But she said to him, *' The goods you proffer 
Are far from my mind as the silk of the sea ! 
The arms of him, my young love, round me 
Is all the treasure that's true for me ! " 

" Proud you are then, proud of your beauty. 
But beauty's a flower will soon decay; 
The fairest flowers they bloom in the Summer, 
They bloom one summer and they fade away." 

" My heart is sad, then, for the little flower 
That must so wither where fair it grew — 
He who has my heart in keeping, 
I would he had my body too." 



34 Wild Earth 

III 

(An old woman sings:) 
There was an oul' trooper went riding by 
On the road to Carricknabauna, 
And sorrow is better to sing than cry 
On the way to Carricknabauna! 
And as the oul' trooper went riding on 
He heard this sung by a crone, a crone 
On the road to Carricknabauna! 

" I'd spread my cloak for you, young lad, 

Were it only the breadth of a farthen'. 

And if your mind was as good as your word 

In troth, it's you I'd rather! 

In dread of any jealousy. 

And before we go any farther, 

Carry me up to the top of the hill 

And show me Carricknabauna ! " 

" Carricknabauna, Carricknabauna, 
Would you show me Carricknabauna? 
I lost a horse at Cruckmoylinn — 
At the Cross of Bunratty I dropped a limb — 
But I left my youth on the crown of the hill 
Over by Carricknabauna ! " 

Girls, young girls, the rush-light is done. 
What will I do till my thread is spun ? 



STORIES 

The Kings of Murias heard that King Atlas had to bear 
The World upon his back, so they sent him then and 

there 
The Crystal Egg that would be the Swan of Endless 

Tales 
That his burthen for a while might lie on his shoulder- 
scales 
Fair-balanced, while he heard the Tales the Swan poured 

forth— 
North-world Tales for the while he watched the Star of 

the North; 
And East-world Tales he would hear in the morning 

swart and cool 
When the Lions Nimrod spared came up from the drink- 

ing-pool ; 
West-world Tales would arise when he turned him with 

the sun; 
Then whispers of Magic Tales from Africa, his own. 

But the Kings of Murias made the Crane their mes- 
senger — 

The fitful Crane whose thoughts are always frightening 
her — 

She slipped from Islet to Isle, she sloped from foreland 
to coast, 

35 



36 Wild Earth 

She passed through cracks in the mountains, and came 

over trees like a ghost; 
And then fled back in dismay when she saw on the hollow 

plains 
The final battle between the Pigmies and the Cranes. 

Where is the Crystal Egg that was sent King Atlas then? 
Hatched it will be one day and the Tales will be told 

to men — 
That is if the fitful Crane did not lose it threading the 

Sea; 
That is if it is not laid in some King's old Treasury ! 



THE TERRIBLE ROBBER MEN 

O! I WISH the sun was bright in the sky. 
And the fox was back in his den, O ! 

For always I'm hearing the passing by 

Of the terrible robber men, O! 

The terrible robber men. 

O ! what does the fox carry over the rye 
When it's bright in the morn again, O ! 

And what is it making the lonesome cry 
With the terrible robber men, O ! 
The terrible robber men. 

O ! I wish the sun was bright in the sky, 
And the fox was back in his den, O! 

For always I'm hearing the passing by 

Of the terrible robber men, O! 

The terrible robber men. 



37 



AN DRINAUN DONN 
{From the Irish) 

A hundred men think I am theirs when with them I 

drink ale. 
But their presence fades away from me, and their high 

spirits fail, 
When I think upon your converse kind by the meadow 

and the linn, 
And your form smoother than the silk on the Mountain 

of O'Flynn. 

Oh, Paddy, is it pain to you that I'm wasting night and 

day, 
And, Paddy, is it grief to you that I'll soon be in the clay? 
My first love with the winning mouth, my treasure you'll 

abide. 
Till the narrow coffin closes me, and the grass grows 

through my side. 

The man who strains to leap the wall, we think him 

foolish still 
When to his hand is the easy ditch to vault across at will : 
The rowan tree is fine and high, but bitter its berries 

grow. 
While blackberries and raspberries are on shrubs that 

blossom low. 

38 



An Drinaun Donn 39 

Farewell, farewell, forever, to yon town amongst the 

trees. 
Farewell, the town that draws me, on mornings and 

on eves. 
Oh, many's the ugly morass now, and many's the crooked 

road, 
That lie henceforth between me and where my heart's 

bestowed. 

And Mary, Ever Virgin, where will I turn my head ! 
I know not where his house is built, nor where his fields 

are spread. 
Ah, kindly was the counsel that my kinsfolk gave to me, 
" The hundred twists are in his heart, and the thousand 

tricks has he." 



POLONIUS AND THE BALLAD SINGERS 

A GAUNT-BUILT womati and her son-in-law, 
A broad-faced fellow, with such flesh as shows 
Nothing but easy nature, and his wife, 
The woman's daughter, who spills all her talk 
Out of a wide mouth, but who has eyes as gray 
As Connemara, where the mountain-ash 
Shows berries red indeed. — They enter now — 
Our country singers! 

Sing, my good woman, sing us some romance 
That has been round your chimney-nooks so long 
*Tis nearly native — something blown here 
And since made racy — like yon tree, I might say — 
Native by influence if not by species — 
Shaped by our winds — You understand, I think? 

— I'll sing the song, sir — 



To-night you see my face — 

Maybe never more you'll gaze 
On the one that for you left his friends and kin ; 

For by the hard commands 

Of the lord that rules these lands 
On a ship I'll be borne from Cruckaunfinn ! 
40 



Polonius and the Ballad Singers 41 

O you know your beauty bright 

Has made him think delight 
More than from any fair one he will gain; 

O you know that all his will 

Strains and strives around you till 
As the hawk upon his hand you are as tame ! 

Then she to him replied: 

" I'll no longer you deny, 
And I'll let you have the pleasure of my charms, 

For to-night I'll be your bride, 

And whatever may betide 
It's we will lie in one another's arms 1 " 



You should not sing 
With body doubled up and face aside — 
There is a climax here — " It's we will lie — " 
Hem — passionate! — And what does your daughter 
sing? 

— A song I like when I do climb bare hills — 
'Tis all about a hawk, — 

No bird that sits on rock or bough 

Has such a front as thine; 

No King that has made war his trade 

Such conquest in his eyne! 

I know thee rock-like on the rock 

Where none can mark a shape ; 

I climb, but thou dost climb with wings, 

And like a wish escape, 

She said, 
And like a wish escape ! 



42 Wild Earth 

No maid that kissed his bonny mouth 

Of another mouth was glad; 

Such pride was in our Chieftain's eyes 

Such countenance he had ! 

But since they made him fly the rocks, 

Thou, Creature, art my quest, — 

Then hft me with thy steady eyes, 

If then to tear my breast, 

She said, 
If then to tear my breast! 



The songs they have 
Are the last reHcs of the feudal world! 
Women will keep them — byzants, doubloons. 
When men will take up songs that are as new 
As dollar-bills. What song have you, young man? 

— A song my father had, sir. It was sent him 
From across the sea, and there was a letter with it. 
Asking my father to put it to a tune 
And sing it all roads. He did that, in troth, 
And five pounds of tobacco were sent with the song 
To forereward him. I'll sing it for you now — 
" The Baltimore Exile. " 



The house I was bred in — ah, does it remain? 
Low walls and loose thatch standing lone in the rain, 
With the clay of the walls coming through with its stain, 
Like the blackbird's left nest in the briar! 

Does a child there give heed to the song of the lark, 
As it Hfts and it drops till the fall of the dark. 
When the heavy-foot kine trudge home from the park, 
Or do none but the red-shank now listen? 



Polonius and the Ballad Singers 43 

The sloe-bush, I know, grows close to the well, 
And its long-lasting blossoms are there I can tell, 
When the kid that was yeaned when the first ones befell 
Can jump to the ditch that they grow on ! 

But there's silence on all. Then do none ever pass 
On the way to the fair or the pattern or mass? 
Do the grey-coated lads drive the ball through the grass 
And speed to the sweep of the hurl? 

O youths of my Land ! Then will no Bolivar 
Ever muster your ranks for delivering war? 
Will your hopes become fixed and beam like a star? 
Will they pass like the mists from your fields? 

The swan and the swallow, the cuckoo and crake 
May visit my land and find hillside and lake, 
And I send my song — I'll not see her awake; 
Fm a bird too old to uncage now ! 

A little silver in a Httle purse ! 

Take it and spend it on your journey, Friends. 

We will. And may we meet your Honor's like 
Every day's end! 

A song is more lasting than the voice of the birds! 

A word is more lasting than the riches of the world! 



THE SEA BIRD TO THE WAVE 

On and on, 

O white brother! 

Thunder does not daunt thee! 

How thou movest ! 

By thine impulse — 

With no wing I 

Fairest thing 

The wide sea shows me! 

On and on, 

O white brother! 

Art thou gone ? 



44 



THE WAYFARER 

I 

The Trees 

There is no glory of the sunset here ! 
Heavy the clouds upon the darkening road, 
And heavy too the wind upon the trees! 
The trees sway, making moan 
Continuous, like breaking seas. 

impotent, bare things. 

You give at last the very cry of Earth ! 

1 walk this darkening road in solemn mood : 
Within deep hell came Dante to a wood — 
Like him I marvel at the crying trees 1 

II 
Christ the Comrade 

Christ, by thine own darkened hour, 
Live within me, heart and brain — 
Let my hands not slip the rein ! 

Ah, how long ago it is 

Since a comrade went with me ! 

Now a moment let me see 

Thyself, lonely in the dark, 
Perfect, without wound or mark! 
45 



46 Wild Earth 

III 
The Captive Archer 

To-morrow I will bend the bow : 
My soul shall have her mark again, 
My bosom feel the archer's strain. 
No longer pacing to and fro 
With idle hands and listless brain: 
As goes the arrow, forth I go. 
My soul shall have her mark again, 
My bosom feel the archer's strain. 
To-morrow I will bend the bow. 

IV 

Triumphators 

The drivers in the sunset race 
Their coal-carts over cobble-stones — 
Not draymen but triumphators : 
Their bags are left with Smith and Jones, 
They let their horses take their stride, 
Which toss their forelocks in their pride. 

Nor blue nor green these factions wear 
Which make career o'er Dublin stones ; 
But Pluto his own livery 
Is what each whip-carrier owns. 
The Caesar of the cab-rank, I 
Salute the triumph speeding by. 



GARADH 

For the poor body that I own 
I could weep many a tear: 

The hours have stolen flesh and bone, 
And left a changeling here. 

Four feeble bones are left to me, 
And the basket of my breast. 

And I am mean and ugly now 
As the scald flung from the nest. 

The briars drag me at the knee, 

The brambles go within, 
And often do I feel him turn 

The old man in my skin. 

The strength is carded from my bones, 
The swiftness drained from me. 

And all the living thoughts I had 
Are like far ships at sea ! 



47 



" I SHALL NOT DIE FOR THEE " 
(From the Irish) 

WOMAN, shapely as the swan, 
On your account I shall not die : 
The men youVe slain — a trivial clan — 
Were less than I. 

1 ask me shall I die for these — 

For blossom-teeth and scarlet lips? 
And shall that delicate swan shape 
Bring me eclipse ? 

Well-shaped the breasts and smooth the skin. 
The cheeks are fair, the tresses free — 
And yet I shall not suffer death — 
God over me! 

Those even brows, that hair like gold. 
Those languorous tones, that virgin way — 
The flowing limbs, the rounded heel 
Slight men betray! 

Thy spirit keen through radiant mien. 
Thy shining throat and smiling eye. 
Thy little palm, thy side like foam — 
I cannot die! 

48 



"/ Shall Not Die for Thee'' 49 

O woman, shapely as the swan, 

In a cunning house hard-reared was I : 

bosom white, O well-shaped palm, 

1 shall not die ! 



OLD MEN COMPLAINING 

First Old Man : 

He threw his crutched stick down: there came 

Into his face the anger flame, 

And he spoke viciously of one 

Who thwarted him — his son's son. 

He turned his head away. " I hate 

Absurdity of language, prate 

From growing fellows. We'd not stay 

About the house the whole of a day 

When we were young, 
Keeping no job and giving tongue ! 

*' Not us in troth ! We would not come 
For bit or sup, but stay from home 
If we gave answers, or we'd creep 
Back to the house, and in we'd peep 
Just like a corncrake. 

*' My grandson and his comrades take 
A piece of coal from you, from me 
A log, or sod of turf, maybe. 
And in some empty place they'll light 
A fire, and stay there all night, 
A wisp of lads ! Now understand 
The blades of grass under my hand 
Would be destroyed by company! 
50 



Old Men Complaining 51 

There's no good company ! We go 

With what is lowest to the low ! 

He stays up late, and how can he 

Rise early? Sure he lags in bed 

And she is worn to a thread 

With calling him — his grandmother — 

She's an old woman, and she must make 

Stir when the birds are half awake 

In dread he'd lose this job like the other! " 

Second Old Man: 

'* They brought yon fellow over here, 

And set him up for an overseer: 

Though men from work are turned away, 

That thick-necked fellow draws full pay, 

Three pounds a week. . . . They let burn down 

The timber yard behind the town 

Where work was good, though firemen stand 

In boots and brasses big and grand 

The crow of a cock away from the place; 

And with the yard they let burn too 

The clock in the tower, the clock I knew 

As well as I know the look of my face." 

Third Old Man: 

" The fellow you spoke of has broken his 

bounds — 
He comes to skulk inside of these grounds : 
Behind the bushes he lay down 
And stretched full hours in the sun. 
He rises now, and like a crane 



52 Wild Earth 

He looks abroad. He's off again. 
Three pounds a week, and still he owes 
Money in every street he goes, 
Hundreds of pounds where we'd not get 
The second shilling of a debt." 

First Old Man : 

" Old age has every impediment, 

Vexation and discontent; 

The rich have more than we : for bit 

The cut of bread and over it 

The scrape of hog's lard, and for sup 

Warm water in a cup. 

But different sorts of feeding breaks 

The body more than fasting does 

With pains and aches ! 

" I'm not too badly off, for I 
Have pipe and tobacco, a place to lie, 
A nook to myself; but from my hand 
Is taken the strength to back command, 
I'm broken, and there's gone from me 
The privilege of authority." 

/ heard them speak — 

The old men heavy on the sod, 

Letting their angers come 

Between them and the thought of God! 



GIRLS SPINNING 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Go where they're thrashing and find m« my 

lover. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 

2nd Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero 1 
Who shall I bring you? Rody the Rover? 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun 1 



1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Listen and hear what he's singing over. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 



A man's voice sings: 
I went out in the evening, my sweetheart for to find ; 
I stood by her cottage window, as well I do mind ; 
I stood by her cottage window and I thought I would 

get in, 
But instead of pleasures for me my sorrows did begin ! 

53 



54 Wild Earth 

Fine color had my darling though it was not me was 

there : 
I did not sit beside her, but inside there was a pair ! 
I stood outside the window like a poor neglected soul, 
And I waited till my own name was brought across the 

coal! 

Here's a health unto the blackbird that sings upon the 

tree, 
And here's to the willy-wagtail that goes the road with 

me! 
Here's a health unto my darling and to them she makes 

her own : 
She's deserving of good company ; for me, I go my lone. 

My love she is courteous and handsome and tall; 
For wit and for behavior she's foremost of them all ! 
She says she is in no ways bound, that with me she'll go 

free; 
But my love had too many lovers to have any love for me ! 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Who weds him might cry with the wandering 

plover ! 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 

Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 

Where they're breaking the horses, go find me 

my lover! 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 



Girls Spinning 55 

2nd Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Him with the strong hand I will bring from the 

clover. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun! 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
I wait till I hear what he's singing over. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 

Another man's voice: 
Are they not the good men of Eirinn, 
Who give not their thought nor their voice 
To fortune, but take without dowry 
The maids of their choice? 

For the trout has sport in the river, 
Whether prices be up or low-down, 
And the salmon, he slips through the water. 
Not heeding the town ! 

Then if she, the love of my bosom. 
Did laugh as she stood by my door, 
O I'd rise then and draw her in to me, 
With kisses go leorl 

It's not likely the wind in the tree-tops 
Would trouble my love nor my rest. 
Nor the hurrying footsteps would draw her, 
My love from my breast! 



S6 Wild Earth 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
He sings to the girsha in the hazel-wood cover. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 



Mallo lero iss im bo nero 1 

Go where they're shearing and find me my lover. 

Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 

2nd Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
The newly-come youth is looking straight over ! 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun! 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Mind what he sings, and I'll give you trover! 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 

A young man's voice sings: 
Once I went over the Ocean, 
On a ship that was bound for proud Spain : 
Some people were singing and dancing, 
But 1 had a heart full of pain. 

I'll put now a sail on the lake 
That's between my treasure and me, 
And I'll sail over the lake 
Till I come to the Joyce Country. 



Girls Spinning 57 

She'll hear my boat on the shingles, 
And she'll hear my step on the land, 
And the corncrake hid in the meadow 
Will tell her that I'm at hand ! 

The Summer comes to Glen Nefin 
With heavy dew on the leas, 
With the gathering of wild honey 
To the tops of all the trees; 

In honey and dew the Summer 
Upon the ground is shed, 
And the cuckoo cries until dark 
Where my storeen has her bed! 

And if O'Hanlon's daughter 
Will give me a welcome kind, 
O never will my sail be turned 
To a harsh and a heavy wind! 

1st Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Welcome I'll give him over and over, 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun! 

2nd Girl 
Mallo lero iss im bo nero ! 
Go where they're threshing and find me my 

lover. 
Mallo lero iss im bo baun ! 



DERMOTT DONN MacMORNA 

One day you'll come to my husband's door, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna, 
One day you'll come to Hugh's dark door, 
And the pain at my heart will be no more, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna! 

From his bed, from his fire, I'll rise, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna, 
From the bed of Hugh, from his fire I'll rise, 
With my laugh for the pious, the quiet, the wise, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna! 

Lonesome, lonesome, the house of Hugh, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna, 
No cradle rocks in the house of Hugh; 
The list'ning fire has thought of you, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna! 

Out of this loneliness we will go, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna, 
Together at last, we two will go 
Down a darkening road with a gleam below. 
Ah, but the winds do bitter blow, 

Dermott Donn MacMorna! 



58 



A POOR SCHOLAR OF THE FORTIES 

My eyelids red and heavy are, 
With bending o'er the smold'ring peat. 
I know the ^neid now by heart, 
My Virgil read in cold and heat, 
In loneliness and hunger smart. 
And I know Homer, too, I ween, 
As Munster poets know Ossian. 

And I must walk this road that winds 
Twixt bog and bog, while east there lies 
A city with its men and books, 
With treasures open to the wise. 
Heart-words from equals, comrade-looks; 
Down here they have but tale and song, 
They talk Repeal the whole night long. 

" You teach Greek verbs and Latin nouns/ 
The dreamer of Young Ireland said. 
"You do not hear the muffled call. 
The sword being forged, the far-off tread 
Of hosts to meet as Gael and Gall — 
What good to us your wisdom store. 
Your Latin verse, your Grecian lore ? " 
59 



6o Wild Earth 

And what to me is Gael or Gall ? 
Less than the Latin or the Greek.— 
I teach these by the dim rush-light, 
In smoky cabins night and week. 
But what avail my teaching slight? 
Years hence, in rustic speech, a phrase> 
As in wild earth a Grecian vase! 



A BALLAD MAKER 

Once I loved a maiden fair, 

Over the hills and far away, 
Lands she had and lovers to spare, 

Over the hills and far away. 
And I was stooped and troubled sore, 
And nriy face was pale, and the coat I wore 
Was thin as my supper the night before. 

Over the hills and far away. 

Once I passed in the autumn late, 

Over the hills and far away, 
Her bawn and byre and painted gate, 

Over the hills and far away. 
She was leaning there in the twilight space. 
Sweet sorrow was on her fair young face, 
And her wistful eyes were away from the place- 

Over the hills and far away. 

Maybe she thought as she watched me come, 

Over the hills and far away, 
With my awkward stride, and my face so glum, 

Over the hills and far away, 
" Spite of his stoop, he still is young; 
They say he goes the Shee among, 
Ballads he makes, I've heard them sung 

Over the hills and far away." 
6i 



62 Wild Earth 

She gave me good-night in gentle wise, 
Over the hills and far away, 

Shyly lifting to mine, dark eyes. 
Over the hills and far away. 

What could I do but stop and speak, 

And she no longer proud but meek? 

She plucked me a rose like her wild rose cheek- 
ed z^^r the hills and far away. 

To-morrow, Mavourneen a sleeveen weds. 

Over the hills and far away, 
With corn in haggard and cattle in sheds, 

Over the hills and far away. 
And I who have lost her — the dear, the rare — 
Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair, 
'Twill bring enough money to drown my care, 

Over the hills and far away. 



AN IDYLL 

You stay for a while beside me 
With your beauty young and rare, 

Though your light limbs are as limber, maid, 
As the foal's that follows the mare. 
Brow fair and young and stately 
Where buds of thought have begun ; 

Hair bright as the breast of the eagle, maid, 
When it strains up to the sun ! 

In the space of a broken castle 

I found you upon a day. 
When the call of the new-come cuckoo, maid, 

Went with me all the way. 

You stood by unmortised stones — 

By stones rough and black with age, 
The fawn beloved of the hunter, maid, 

In the panther's broken cage. 

And we went down together 
By paths your childhood knew, 

Remote you went beside me, maid, 
Like the spirit of the dew : 
They were hard — the hedgerows — still, 
Sloe-bloom was their scanty dower. 

You slipped it within your bosom, maid, 
The bloom that scarce is flower; 
63 



64 Wild Earth 

And now you stay beside me, 
With your beauty young and rare, 

Though your light limbs are as limber, maid, 
As the foal's that follows the mare. 
Brow fair and young and stately 
Where buds of thought have begun, 

Hair bright as the breast of the eagle, maid, 
iWhen it strains up to the sun. 



ARAB SONGS 

I. Umimah 

Saadi, the Poet, stood up and he put forth his living 

words ; 
His songs were the hurthng of spears, and his figures the 

flashing of swords! 
With hearts dilated the tribe saw the creature of Saadi's 

mind: 
It was like to the horse of a King — a creature of fire and 

of wind! 

Umimah, my loved one, was by me; without love did 

these eyes see my fawn, 
And if fire there were in her being for me its splendor 

was gone : 
When the sun storms up on the tent it makes waste the 

fire of the grass : 
It was thus with my loved one's beauty — the splendor of 

song made it pass ! 

The desert, the march, and the onset— these, and these 

only avail; 
Hands hard with the handling of spear-shafts, brows 

white with the press of the mail! 
And as for the kisses of women — the'se are honey, the 

poet sings. 
But the honey of kisses, beloved — it is lime for the 

spirit's wings! 

65 



66 Wild Earth 

11. The Gadfly 

Ye know not why God hath joined the horse-fly unto the 

horse, 
Nor why the generous steed should be yoked with the 

poisonous fly: 
Lest the steed should sink into ease and lose his fervor 

of limb 
God hath bestowed on him this — a lustful and venomous 

bride ! 

Never supine lie they, the steeds of our folk, to the sting, 

Praying for deadness of nerve with wounds the shame 
of the sun : 

They strive, but they strive for this — the fullness of 
passionate nerve; 

They pant, but they pant for this — the speed that out- 
strips the pain! 

Sons of the Dust, ye have stung — there is darkness upon 

my soul! 
Sons of the Dust, ye have stung — ^yea, stung to the roots 

of my heart! 
But I have said in my breast — the birth succeeds to the 

pang. 
And Sons of the Dust, behold — ^your malice becomes my 

song! 



Arab Songs 67 

III. The Parrot and the Falcon 

My Afghan poet-friend 

With this made his message end — 

" The scroll around my wall shows two the poets have 
known — 

The parrot and falcon they — 
The parrot hangs on his spray, 

And silent the falcon sits with brooding and baleful eyes. 



" Men come to me ; one says, 

* We have given your verses praise, 

And we will keep your name abreast of the newer names ; 
But you must make what accords 
With poems that are household words — 

Your own : write familiar things ; to your hundred add a 
score.' 

" My friend, they would bestow 
Fame for a shadow-show. 
And they would pay with praise for things dead as last 
year's leaves. 

But I look where the parrot, stilled, 
Hangs a head with rumors filled. 
And I watch where my falcon turns her brooding and 
baleful eyes! 

" Come to my shoulder ! Sit ! 
To the bone be your talons knit! 



68 Wild Earth 

I have sworn my friends shall have no parrot-speech 
for me. 

Who reads the verse I write 

Shall know the falcon's flight, 
The vision single and sure, the conquest of air and sun ! 

Is there aught else worthy to weave within your banners' 

folds? 
Is there aught else worthy to grave on the blades of 

your naked swords?" 



RIVER MATES 

I'll be an otter, and 111 let you swim 
A mate beside me ; we will venture down 
A deep, full river when the sky above 
Is shut of the sun; spoilers are we: — 
Thick-coated: no dog's tooth can bite at our veins, 
With ears and eyes of poachers : deep-earthed ones 
Turned hunters ; let him strike past, — 
The little vole ; my teeth are on an edge 
For the King-Fish of the River ! 

I hold him up. 
The glittering salmon that smells of the sea : 
I hold him up and whistle ! 

Now we go 
Back to our earth : we will tear and eat 
Sea-smelling salmon : you will tell the cubs 
I am the Booty-bringer — I am the Lord 
Of the River— -the deep, dark, full and flowing River. 



69 



FOR MORFYDD 

It would not be far for us two to go back to the age of 

bronze : 
Then you were a King's daughter ; your father had cur- 

raghs a score; 
A herd of horses, good tillage upon the face of four hills, 
And clumps of cattle beyond them where rough-browed 

men showed their spears. 

And I was good at the bow, but I had no men and no 

herds, 
And your father would have bestowed you, in a while, 

on some unrenowned 
Ulysses ; or on the high King to whom they afterwards 

raised 
Three stones as high as the elk's head (this cromlech, 

maybe, where we sit). 

How fair you were when you walked beside the old forest 

trees ! 
So fair that I thought you would change and fly away 

as a swan! 
And then we were mates for play; and then all eagle 

you grew 
To drive me to range the tempest — King's child of the 

hero-age ! 

70 



For Morfydd 71 

I called three times as an owl : through the gap where 
the herdsmen watched 

You ran, and we climbed the height where the brackens 
pushed at our knees ; 

And we lay where the brackens drew the earth-smell out 
of the earth, 

And we journeyed and baffled the fighters of three ill- 
wishing Kings! 

It would not be far for us two to go back to the age of 

bronze — 
The fire left by the nomads is lone as a burning ship ! 
We eat them as we pass by, the sweet green ears of the 

wheat ! 
At last, a King, I relieve a good clan from a dragon's 

spleen ! 

Pieces of amber I brought you, big as a bowman's 

thumbs ; 
Trumpets I left beside you, wrought when the smiths 

had all art; 
A dancing-bird that I caught you — they are back in the 

age of bronze : 
I give what I made, and found, and caught — a score of 

songs ! 



NOTES 

Page 20 — Kist: a hoard; a hidden treasure. 

Page 31 — Lannan Shee: a fairy sweetheart. 

Page 35 — Murias: one of the three fabulous cities in which, 
according to the stories, the Gaels sojourned be- 
fore they came to Ireland. 

Page 38— An Drinaun Donn : "The Blossom of the Blackthorn." 
This is the most widely spread of the Connacht folk- 
songs. The original, with a translation, is given in 
Dr. Douglas Hyde's famous collection of West of 
Ireland songs. The Love Songs of Connacht. The 
other poem translated from the Irish, "I shall not 
die for Thee," though not a folk-song, is also given 
in that collection. 



73 



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